Andrew Primavera — Deep Diving in Cheap Beer
Many moons ago Andrew walked into a cafe I was managing with keys jangling on his belt loop and handed me his resume. I honesty don’t remember much from that resume, but I do recall he had wicked eye contact. One day after work I offered to walk him home. We began walking towards the Bow River, only a few blocks from the cafe. He stopped at the trunk of his car and said something to the likes of ‘Welcome home!’ as he opened the back of his hatchback. Inside there was a small mattress and a makeshift shelf with books. I leaned in closer to see the titles and glaring right back at me was a dischevelled copy of ‘The Unbearable Lightness of Being’ – nothing short of my favourite book. Fast friends, best friends they say.
Over the years Andrew has become a staple in my life. We have the same taste in both poetry and women. He may be a nurse and homeowner now (one of us had to get a real job), but he is still very much living a life of adventure and humble debauchery, almost always somewhere far away… and almost never shared on social media. He is my go to person for a lot of things, he’s the first person I message if I see something unbearable beautiful or impossibly painful. He is also my most loyal pen pal — I currently have 3 letters of his on my fridge! Andrew is truly one of the people who has made me, me.
I was lucky enough to visit Andrew earlier this year. He took me to damp bookshops and an old sauna house. We ended the day at an empty bar with pouring rain outside, ‘In Rainbows’ blaring through obnoxiously loud speakers by a bored bartender. Here are some portraits I took of Andrew in his home the next day.
G: How did we meet?
Andrew: I walked into a cafe in Canmore looking for a job. Someone put you in charge so you hired me. Big mistake eh?
G: How have your parents influenced who you’ve become?
Andrew: I’ve thought about this one a lot because my parents split when I was 2 and I grew up primarily with my mom, but carry a lot of my dad’s traits and mannerisms. My mom, by way of example, has taught me selflessness, work ethic, and commitment to family. We had a really strong connection growing up and she definitely nurtured my empathetic side, and that probably has drawn me into healthcare. My dad, even though he was a peripheral figure, was an idea in my head that expanded the way I looked at the world and influenced my aspirations — he lived and taught in Asia through the 90’s, had a univeristy education, had a mesmerizing book shelf, and spoke multiple languages. A big deal when you’re growing up in an inward-looking religious farming community.
“free-diving wrecks in aquarium-clear waters and then reliving that wonder while smoking cheap cigarettes and drinking cold Mexican beer”
G: When do you feel most alive?
Andrew: So many moments. But the first that comes to mind is walking down the street of a bustling city in a country that I’ve never been to. I love the sensory overload and the feelings of newness and exploration. But I’ve also had some incredibly invigorating moments in nature this past year — free-diving wrecks in aquarium-clear waters and then reliving that wonder while smoking cheap cigarettes and drinking cold Mexican beer is one.
G: What is romance to you?
Andrew: You got me.
G: Favourite poem?
Andrew: Cinnamon Peeler by Michael Ondaatje.
If I were a cinnamon peeler
I would ride your bed
And leave the yellow bark dust
On your pillow.
Your breasts and shoulders would reek
You could never walk through markets
without the profession of my fingers
floating over you. The blind would
stumble certain of whom they approached
though you might bathe
under rain gutters, monsoon.
Here on the upper thigh
at this smooth pasture
neighbour to you hair
or the crease
that cuts your back. This ankle.
You will be known among strangers
as the cinnamon peeler's wife.
I could hardly glance at you
before marriage
never touch you
--your keen nosed mother, your rough brothers.
I buried my hands
in saffron, disguised them
over smoking tar,
helped the honey gatherers...
When we swam once
I touched you in the water
and our bodies remained free,
you could hold me and be blind of smell.
you climbed the bank and said
this is how you touch other women
the grass cutter's wife, the lime burner's daughter.
And you searched your arms
for the missing perfume
and knew
what good is it
to be the lime burner's daughter
left with no trace
as if not spoken to in the act of love
as if wounded without the pleasure of a scar.
You touched
your belly to my hands
in the dry air and said
I am the cinnamon
Peeler's wife. Smell me.
G: Describe a typical day.
Andrew: Oh god, I wish I had one. My day-to-day changes a lot, as I work shift work and travel contracts in different places.But when I am home in Vancouver, and not at work, and have a day completely to myself, I’ll wake up mid-morning, brew a coffee, do nothing for a couple of hours, jump on my bike to a favourite cafe, have another coffee, catch up on reading or writing, and then later in the day, fully recharged, connect with friends.
G: Tell us about someone who impacted your life but is no longer in your life?
One of my closest friends Al passed away about five years ago. He was the most inspiring, unique, and genuine person that I’ve ever known. We met when I was 19 and he was a couple of years older, and his example played a huge role shaping who I am today.
G: Do you believe in an afterlife?
Andrew: No. But it’s a nice idea.
G: Do you believe in good and evil?
Andrew: I don’t believe that good and evil exist beyond human judgement — but I do believe in the importance of making those judgements.
G: What do you like most about yourself?
Andrew: I appreciate my desire for continual growth.
G: What do you dislike about yourself?
Andrew: Procrastination. Like, I’ve been meaning/trying to answer these questions since March. I procrastinate on things that I care about (because the bar is held higher), and things that I find difficult — and I care about answering these for you and I find it difficult to write about myself.
G: Where do you see yourself is 10 years?
Andrew: Hopefully looking back on the past 10 years with a sense of contentment.
G: Favourite place in the world and why.
Andrew: Waterton Lakes National Park. It is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been, and so many of my formative experiences and friendships originated there.
G: What is your experience of work, life and play balance?
Andrew: I have a wildly flexible work situation at the moment, so on the whole, this year is tipped heavily in the direction of life and play. But day to day I don’t have any balance — I work hard for intense periods, dropping off the map, and then have long periods off of work. For now, I prefer it this way.
G: How do you drink your coffee?
Andrew: As one should — black.
G: What are you listening to right now?
Andrew: Bonny Light Horseman — Summer Dream.
Tyler Goin — Coral & Instant Coffee in East Van
Mike and I have known Tyler for many years now. Like Mike, Tyler also grew up in the Bow Valley, right in the heart of the Rocky Mountains. On our recent trip to Vancouver we reached out and Tyler graciously offered to have us visit his studio. Working nearby as a millwright, Tyler fills every spare moment working on his ceramic and metal sculptures. His home studio is nestled in a large industrial building on Commercial Drive where most residents appear to also be artists. You can see distant meat plants pumping out plumes of chicken gut smoke from the windows. The apartment is separated into two spaces which Tyler built himself; an insulated workshop and a living space with kitchen, washroom and bed. It’s refreshing to be in a space which has so much work openly displayed; a kitchen table slathered in clay and bisque fired pieces above the oven — a home which puts minimalism to shame. It feels as if Tyler has no option but to create, a deeply personal compulsion split wide open right in front of my eyes. It kind of felt like walking directly into the inner workings of his head.
G: When you create, who is your audience?
Tyler: Everyone and no one all at the same time - haha. I think it’s inclusive but only if you allow it to capture your curiousity. The work is designed to be universal, centred around a fascination with experimentation, engineering, and human condition - meant to be expanded on in the viewers own terms - trying to play with perceived value as a medium unto itself. Everything is the same and nothing matters until you inject it with a narrative or sentiment. It can then evolve into a treasure, building on a story that could be about the material, the process, the form, the finish, or even how you happened upon it. I try to give hints but ultimately the subtleties are there for you to fill in, an attempt to activate the viewer as participant.
“…the greatest art is to endure.”
G: Could you describe the balance of measured fabrication and organic creation that is evident in your work process?
Are you sure you want to know? This recurring duality I convey in my work is a reflection of the reality I live. What I mean by that is, the work sits in conversation with itself and surroundings - more distinctively a modern aesthetic up against an idiosyncratic vision. The way my life reflects that is through my experience as an industrial mechanic/fabricator, needing to be considerate of blue prints, technology, and precision. The other side being more intuitive and emotional, interrogating material relationships to find harmony through gesture. Ultimately it is about being human in a non-human context. I design thoughtful and intentional parameters, creating procedures that leave room for improvisation and serendipity.
G: What is your biggest obstacle as an emerging Canadian artist?
Tyler: Affordability, I have issues around money like most - and I have to break my back in order to go into my studio and continue breaking my back. I’m a masochist participating in a subversive act while complying with a system that is forever taxing - but sometimes you get moments where it’s all worthwhile. I’ve never been one to apply for grants or anything, and I’m not much of a businessman. I tend to want to swing a hammer or pull a wrench more than ask for someone’s money. Not because of any ideals, only because i’m bad at it, haha.
G: How would you describe your next collection of work?
Tyler: Some of it is refined iterations of what I’ve been developing, and some will be playing with different types of functionality. Personally, it is a way to challenge myself to understand more of what I’m doing, and how to be more accurate with expression whether that is sculpture, furniture, or beyond. I also have a short scratch animation/film project that I made with friends that will be released soon.
“I think it’s fun to reframe value, pulling back the curtain to let people in on something”
G: How do you want your work to make people feel?
Tyler: I like to believe I am leaving behind a variety of conceptual receipts that have the opportunity to enrich people's lives in their own way, whether it’s my work or inspiration for their own - maybe it motivates people to perceive things in a new way and find value where they didn’t before. I just got off the phone with my dad and we talked a little bit about graffiti for some reason. He’s always said he admires the large colourful murals that people spend time on. I challenged him by suggesting that I like the illegible scribbles left quickly on walls and dumpsters. It could be a lost drunk kid on a search for their own identity - expressing something in a vulnerable, yet anonymous way - and as destructive as it may seem, this liminal outlet can be a thing of beauty. He said he never thought of it that way. I think it’s fun to reframe value, pulling back the curtain to let people in on something. Especially in a world so saturated with adverts and consumerism. I want people to think, what does it mean to make a mark? How do I make something mean something?
G: What is currently your favourite medium?
Tyler: Ceremony. There are so many ways you can make this happen or imagine it. I love the extra capacity it has for so much diversity and meaning making, whether it’s the space, the contents, the performance, the sounds. To me it is the closest thing I can get to imagining Herman Hesse’s Glass Bead Game. I suppose in some ways I am always thinking of this in my own work. Like the objects are a result of ceremony or intended to be used in ceremony.
G: What are you listening to right now?
Right right now? “Luv Like by Nia Archives” is on the stereo. Also, I’ve been listening to the 1998 album Stratosphere by Duster lots too, heavy rotation.
G: What is commercial success and how does one balance it with staying true to your art form in the industry of sculpture?
I’m not commercially successful so I don’t know if I can suggest anything but from what I understand it is partly endurance, stream lining, delegation, and relative understanding of what “success” means. To me, I am successful so long as I keep going, and never stop creating. It’s truly a relative idea. Participating in this life through a creative lens is success, making your bed when you wake up is success. Nurturing healthy compulsions can be success. Staying true to that is what I believe is meant by: the greatest art is to endure.
G. How do you balance your full time job/daily life with making time to create?
Tyler: I make sacrifices. I have narrowed down my activities so that I am almost always engaged in something that contributes to my practice. I went into a career that I felt would improve my skills, while also providing me some money to self fund art projects. A lot of my friends are working artists and when we hang out it's because we are working on something together. When someone else is buying a dirt bike or a new car, I am buying sheet metal and boxes of clay.
G: As a kid who grew up in small town Alberta, what do you like about East Van?
Tyler: I guess I wanted to be closer to where more cultural things happen. It’s more diverse here. I’ve been in Vancouver for 6 years and it feels like home. I think my practice can exist anywhere though, and I will probably build a shack in the middle of nowhere at some point. Right now I enjoy consuming culture that informs my work, whether it’s food, music, dance, comedy, etc.
G. How do you like your coffee?
Tyler: Haha, I exclusively drink instant coffee - black, one teaspoon, half filled with boiling water, and the other half cold water so I can drink it fast. I have an affinity with instant coffee - romanticizing the blue collar nature and its prolific power; most of the world functions on this form of caffeine. I have an ongoing series of instant coffee cups that I make, each one a unique love poem to the working world, something I am very much embedded in.
G: You have experimented with painting, photography, drawing and writing — could you tell us a little about how those experiences lead you to where you are now?
Tyler: I believe in diversifying skill sets and experiences to round out concepts. When you play with as many things as you can, you may find a more accurate medium for an idea while also opening yourself up to those eureka moments re: serendipity. I have some figurative paintings floating around out there, but I tend to shy away from this now as I don’t think it’s accurate for me to put my ideas into the form of other human bodies. I like the challenge of approaching humanity as a concept without being so explicit, I prefer leaving traces like fingerprints. I will probably do more abstract painting in the future. I generally use photography more to sketch or gather ideas/document. If I thought I could say what I want through language, I hope I would do that, but for the moment I don’t feel strong enough to get there. Somehow, I feel like I get closer to what I want to say by poking a pile of mud with a stick a thousand times.
G: What does romance mean to you?
Tyler: To me romance boils down to vulnerability, and is a communicated intuitive connection. There is no right or wrong in romance, only personal truths and affective drive - no matter the delusion. The traces of this can be marked by enduring commitment and focus, whether it be a person, place, thing, or idea. A relative expanse into a gut feeling that could be perceived as irrational from the outside. I think people fetishize this in art because it can be so peculiar and reactionary by nature. I certainly do, and sometimes that is the only thing you have at the end of the day to keep going.
Above: Tyler holding the piece Mike and I fell in love with and bought.
G. Where can we find you online?
Tyler: www.noiseassembly.com or on instagram @studio.noiseassembly
Feel free to contact and speak with me direct or plan a studio visit!
Introduction — How It Came To Be
“...sit me down, shut me up, tell me ten things I don’t already know, and make me laugh. I don’t care what you look like, just turn me on. And if you can do that, I will follow you on bloody stumps through the snow.”
Where to begin? Well let me tell you a little bit about how I found myself here and what I envision for the future of my photography.
Portrait of first boyfriend, 2007.
Ever since I was little I wanted to be a writer. Growing up as a second generation immigrant, we didn’t speak English at home. Although I would consider my mother to be one of the most worldly and street-smart people I know, language was a tender subject for her. Her broken English left her feeling inadequate, a little ‘rough’ or at times, uneducated. Of course this wasn’t true, my mum still reads around 200 books a year and will put most people to shame when it comes to testing their knowledge on Russian philosophy or Korean politics. Regardless, I remember a sense of urgency as a kid to come across as well spoken. We grew up in a ghost town in a rural area of Victoria, Southern Australia — otherwise referred to as the outback. Our region was known as the teen pregnancy and meth capital of the country. In these parts, if you had an accent you were often told to ‘go back to where you came from’. For this reason, I avoided speaking German in front of my peers to my family.
Self Portrait in bath, 15 years old.
By the time I picked up a manual camera I was probably 15 years old. I never pursued photography in any serious capacity, I simply viewed my photos as a fun addition to my writing at the time. Looking back through my career as a photographer, I feel I fell into it by accident and perhaps that’s how the best art is created; without trying too hard. I am incredibly critical with all areas of my life, and photography was the one thing I allowed myself to do, without striving for perfection. When I graduated highschool at 17 I applied to both a photography degree and a writing degree. I was rejected from the photography course soon after but was offered a first round offer into the prestigious writing degree at RMIT University. At the time when they reviewed my portfolio I remember my teachers disliking my fictional stories. They much preferred the tales of my hometown; the shoe-less gangs of 10 year old kids running around with sharpened kitchen knives, or our neighbour setting their own farm (and all of it’s animals) on fire in the hopes of insurance money. These are the stories they preferred; real life in all of its absurdity. Not the polished stories I made up. I recall my mum once saying that reality is far more interesting and strange than any fantasy could ever be, and perhaps that’s why I loathe extensive editing and body modification in the photography industry so much. It’s simply not real.
Before studying, I travelled around Europe, Mexico, England and the US by myself. A few years later, in my final year of university my dad died. I met Mike through email from across the world and decided to drop out of school to move to Canada. Writing had fallen to the wayward and I found myself working in a coffee shop in the Rocky Mountains while Mike worked away on the pipeline for months at a time. I had already had some paid photography work under my belt, photographing musicians in Melbourne for cash but I hadn’t really thought twice about turning it into a real job.
Portrait of Ladie Dee, musician, Melbourne 2012
I hadn’t intended to offer photography professionally but friends starting enquiring about getting their portrait taken in the style of my previous work in Melbourne. It was in 2012 that I began offering sessions to Mike’s friends, using the same camera I bought when I was 15. This is where two worlds collide; how someone sees themselves and what I see.
A creative friend of mine once said ‘is it a good photo, or is it just a pretty girl?’ when referring to liking an image. With a society obsessed with skinny and pretty, it can be tough to distinguish a strong portrait from a pretty body. Is that a great dress, or is it just on a rake-thin model wearing it? Is that a good photo or is it just a pretty girl standing on a dirt road in Joshua Tree flexing her rib cage? Is it a good poem or is it just a hot girl on Instagram posting them? To me, I found this metaphor aptly encapsulated every issue I had with social media. Art shouldn’t be about glorifying youth and thinness. ‘Pretty’ is just about the least interesting thing something can be. I had been raised to see women as a lot more than their bodies. The women in my life took up space. They could be angry. They could pull out a loose tooth with their bare hands. Women cut stale wood with one arms swing of an ax. Women could be ugly. Scary. Funny. The last thing I valued as a girl growing up was the pursuit of smallness. Yet it’s all we see in social media; young, small, pretty women contorting their bodies to be concave and angular. Every recipe, landscape photo or poem is followed up by an ass or ab shot to keep the consumers attention. The amount of times someone sends me a photography account they love and it’s just half naked models with a vacant expression posing in front of landscapes in every post. Surely there’s more to photography than that?
My mother putting lipstick on my Oma for a portrait.
I have only been back to Australia twice in 10 years. On these trips I made a point to take portraits of my mother and grandmother. Something clicked while I was on these trips. Suddenly I wasn’t taking photos of Instagram influencers, I was taking photos of the two women who raised me. There was this moment where I said to myself ‘THIS IS WHAT MATTERS. This is REAL’. Sure, it might not be traditionally pretty. But it actually means something. I want to create more imagery which is real to those I photograph. I want you to recognize yourself and for those who love you, to recognize you and to remember you by.
On one of my last trips home, my mum showed me a trunk filled with photos of naked women in strange and 'unflattering’ positions (of which I won’t post here). Sagging breasts, an abundance of pubic hair, belly folds and crooked noses, I asked my mum where they came from. She told me this was my fathers collection of portraits he took of models to use as inspiration for his abstract paintings. He often painted figures with large bellies, distorted genitals and big noses. When I look at my dads work and photos it makes me fall in love with the human body all over again.
There are so many incredible stories to be told which are hidden in the lives of those who exist on the outskirts of glorified youth. We have become accustomed with expecting the art and media we consume to be attractive and generally easy on the eye. To me that is not the point of art whatsoever. Art shouldn’t look like a Coca Cola ad. Art is meant to evoke an array of feelings, not just arousal or comparative shame. Unfortunately in today’s world of media, youthful looks beat out character nearly every time and as a photographer my worst nightmare is only photographing models and not people who are doing interesting things. I want to change that currency and I want to change this distorted narrative we all feed into.
My mother dressed in my late fathers hat and jacket.
So here I am, 10 years later and over 600 shoots under my belt. I know for business purposes I should be focusing on driving more traffic to my site, or posting tips and tricks for photographers or making Tik Tok reels like a muppet but for now I want this space to be one of cathartic honesty. I may be in the icky world of marketing, but I will always strive to inject humanity into the work I create. I am not a content creating machine and I want to pump the breaks on this bizarre meta-verse that everyone is fuelling. Here’s to seeing more beauty in real life, in family and most importantly, in expression — frowns, tears, wrinkles and scars.
P.s, book your parents in for a portrait session.